Return to a Broken Home
by Shadowflame611
Summary: A tribute to the glorious episode that is SAINW.
1. Loss of a brother and death of a father

_Nothing special this time… just another 'Same As it Never Was'fic to add to the collection. I was thinking of plotlines the other day and I suddenly had this urge to write about it. The story moves at a rapid pace … if fact, I wouldn't be surprised to find people complain on how short it is. But that's okay… All I ask is that my readers just be aware that, when I wrote this, I didn't intend to make a huge project out of it. It was just for 'fun'. (That would be 'fun' for Shadowflame, who just can't seem to grasp the concept of humor fun, and angst/ tragedy not so fun)_

_Since this is based on SAINW, it might contain some spoilers for the episode for those who have yet to see it. Just a warning on that part._

_**There is character death in this fic**. If you absolutely cannot stand to see any of the turtles or their friends die, then it is strongly suggested by myself that you click the lil 'back' link that will return you to whatever page you were previously viewing._

_**There is swearing in this fic. Also, double parenthesis notify the time that the scene is taking place in. The turtles were born in the year of 1985, making them twenty two when the war started.**_

_**The Ninja Turtles and other characters do not belong to me, nor does the storyline of 'Same As it Never Was'. This piece of writing is mine, though.**_

_**I will quote bits from SAINW in this fic. They are in italics and bold.**_

((The beginning of the end, September 23, 2007))

"_**Serve the Shredder. He is your lord and master. Serve the Shredder and live!"**_

"That… this can't be right." Donatello was sitting stiffly upright, soft, brown eyes glued to the computer monitor and mouth slightly agape in absolute horror. "Not… not with the technology that he has right now…" He spread his large, green digits over the keyboard, ready to resume typing as soon as he recovered from his stupor.

It was several moments before the turtle moved again, relaxing slightly from his stiff posture and cracking his wrists with an unconscious flick of each hand. Then he began to type furiously, murmuring words like 'impossible' and 'this can't be' to himself over and over.

But whatever Donatello feared at the moment seemed to be confirmed, for there was a metallic beeping from the computer, followed by the screen flashing blue. In a very uncharacteristic display of frustration, Don pushed himself from his computer desk with an audible growl, rolling across his sub-car laboratory to a desk opposite the room from the one he had just been occupying.

He began to frantically search the numerous drawers on the desk for something, grumbling to himself with each unsuccessful search. Finally, he found what he was searching for in the very last drawer – a disk- and immediately wheeled himself back to his computer desk, making a vow to himself to become more organized someday.

He promptly pressed the button that opened the C drive and plopped the disk labeled '75a' with shaking hands unceremoniously into the drive. A program opened, and Donatello moved the mouse across the monitor screen, clicking the 'ok' button. As soon as he did, a new window popped up, displaying the program's progress. One percent completed… five percent completed… seventeen percent completed… The title of the progress window, highlighted in blue, was 'Virus uploading to programs 56xb-284bt'.

Now Don relaxed slightly, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands on his lap, waiting to see if the program worked. He tried to remain calm, but could not deny himself of the fear that nagged at he corners of his mind, nor could he stop himself from quaking. The screen flashed again, this time red, and a feminine voice spoke.

"Error uploading virus 75a to programs 56xb-284bt. Password needed to continue further. Please speak password after the beep." _Beep._

"Shit!" Donatello yelled angrily, bringing his hands to his head and leaning back so that his old chair computer creaked dangerously, as though on the verge of giving in.

"We are sorry," there was a pause, and then a recording of Donatello screaming 'shit' was replayed, and the computer continued. "…is not a valid password. Your system code has been categorized under 'intruder' and will hereby be terminated from…"

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Leo's voice could be heard. "Donnie? You alright?"

Don slowly brought his hands away from his face, exposing his worried expression. He reached over and turned his speakers off so that he would not have to listen to what he already knew the female voice would say before replying. "No, I'm not." He felt Leo come up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sure that you'll find a way to get us through it." Don sighed shakily, and Leo felt some of his confidence in his brother drop. "…Don?"

"I don't think… I don't think I can get us through it this time, Leo." He looked up into his older brother's confused face. "It's Shredder. And Stockman."

Leo paused, looking down at his younger brother, before replying, "I don't understand."

"Leo, he- they – hacked into the governments's security systems."

"In the United States?"

"No, Leo. Not just the US … the entire world. Shredder, he... he has complete control."

((1 year, 9 months later))

_**Future Michelangelo: "…Where the shell have you been all these years?"**_

_**Present Donatello: "All these years?"**_

_**Future Michelangelo: "You've been gone over thirty years, Donatello." **_

_**Present Donatello: "Thirty years? It can't be!"**_

_**Future Michelangelo: "It can be, and is. We thought you were dead... How the shell could you just abandon us like that?"**_

_**Present Donatello: "I didn't. I'd never abandon you guys."**_

Donatello stood alone, blanketed in the shadows of a large building and staring down his beak at a manhole cover, seemingly deep in thought. Slung across the turtle's shoulder was a large duffel bag, so heavy that it made Donnie lean to the side slightly as he held its weight.

He seemed to be immune to the piercing screams that echoed throughout the city, something that, nowadays, happened often. Probably another human being captured for slavery or extermination. He didn't flinch when the loud _crack_ing sound of a gun sounded from overhead, nor did he move when a large group of humans rushed past him, chased closely by Shredder's authorities.

Finally, after a time that seemed to stretch for hours, (when in reality, it was only a few minuets) the turtle blinked. A single tear slid freely down his cheek, where it dripped off his chin and seemed to hang suspended in the air for a brief moment before it resumed it's plummet to the ground. Donatello's eyes did not leave the manhole cover as he spoke.

"Leo, Mikey, Raph… Master Splinter… I'm sorry. Please understand, I must do this." His voice shook slightly as he spoke. "I do this for the sake of this planet, for our home… but mostly, I do this for… well, you guys. You are all the most important people to me in the world. I… I love…" He stopped, sucking in a deep breath in a meager effort to control himself. However, grief still edged its way to the corners of his eyes and relieved itself from his body in it's purest form: tears. He bowed his head, determined to speak whatever he had to say.

"… You guys. I don't want to put you all through this, I really don't. But I have come to the conclusion that since I am the one who is needed the least in the family, then I should be the one to carry out this burden." He stood there quietly for a few more minuets, clenching his teeth together so that the sobs would not escape him as he tried to absorb a mental the picture of his home, of the faces of his family. Finally, he turned his back on what was once his sanctuary, and left.

Donatello had deliberately set things up so that it would look like he left to patrol the city, and during that had perished. It hurt him to do such a thing; he knew before he did it what grief he was going to put his family through. But what drove him to make such an act was the possibility that he will someday return home to his family. That was, if he did not perish during this absolutely reckless move to save the world. No, that was not the right way to face the road ahead of him… He _will_ return someday. That he vowed.

…He just hoped that his family would still be there, alive, when he did.

(4 years since the disappearance of Donatello)

Master Splinter blinked rainwater from his eyes, spreading his senses outward in every direction possible. He could not physically sense the Foot, but there was an overwhelming sense of danger in the air. It seemed to suck all of the oxygen from the environment, leaving behind a thick atmosphere of death and pain to breathe.

With every step that he took, Splinter became more and more aware of his mission- more aware of why he and his sons were here. They wanted revenge. Revenge for the loss of a dearly beloved turtle and their human friend, Casey. They also came for payback for all of the countless innocent human souls that had been lost over the period of almost seven years.

In front of him, Splinter could see Leonardo clearly despite the precipitation, scouting slightly ahead, but not too far—he would not greatly distance himself from his family. On either side of Splinter cautiously walked his other two remaining sons- Michelangelo and Raphael. Their weapons were drawn; faces taught in a mixture of both fear and a burning, spiteful anger.

It was a mission that they had already attempted two times before. It had scarred the small family more than they already were- mentally and physically. Splinter watched his sons as the wound in their hearts and minds scabbed over, and in the first few months after the 'incidents' the scabs sometimes would reopen and bleed crimson emotions that one could barely cope with. Splinter saw more scabs bleed on the loss of the purple banded turtle and the hotheaded vigilante than he did on any other trouble that crossed his family's path.

He also saw his sons become physically scarred, as better demonstrated by Raphael, who had lost an eye on their first attempt at ridding the world of Shredder.

The atmosphere of the lair had changed greatly since the disappearance of Donatello. It did not take long before Splinter realized that his son's fights had began to take place more often- and when they did, they were much more violent, especially the ones concerning Leonardo and Raphael. It got to the point that Splinter feared the separation of his family. He often wondered that, if they were to separate, when it would be. A month from now? A year? Or perhaps tomorrow…

Splinter shook himself from his thoughts. Now was not the time to dwell on things that could happen in the future. Now, in the present, Splinter began to sense the Foot surrounding them- in incredibly large numbers. Feeling the adrenaline rush through his old bones at the promise of a soon battle, Splinter called his sons to a stop.

"Halt." He barely heard himself speak these words. His soms seemed to, however, and immediately obeyed, Leonardo backing up until he was closer to his comrades. There was a few moments of absolute silence, during which time seemed to move painfully slow.

And then, like an enormous cloud of black locusts, the Foot dropped from above, circling the small family. Splinter felt his sons instinctively close tightly around him, as though they were protecting him with their bodies. He stepped out of the center of the 'turtle triangle', standing between Leonardo and Michelangelo.

A single arrow came sailing trough the air. Splinter reached up and calmly grabbed the shaft just before it met it's destination- right between his eyes. He raised his other hand and gripped the arrow in both hands, snapping the shaft in two and throwing the pieces aside. Thunder rumbled angrily above their heads and the clouds continued to pour rain upon the warriors, as though shedding tears for the lives that were about to be lost in this battle. Lightning flashed in the sky, briefly illuminating the silhouettes of the Foot and, behind them, the huge looming form of the Shredder in his newest exosuit. The Shredder raised one arm to the sky and, slowly, the Foot moved as one giant black creature, descending upon it's pray.

And so began a great and bloody battle.

(The next day)

**_Present Donatello:_ _"No… Master Splinter is…? No!"_**

_**Future Michelangelo: "…It's not the safest place, but it's where sensei wanted to be buried."**_

_**Present Donatello: "H- how?"**_

_**Future Michelangelo: "A couple of years after you disappeared, Master Splinter gave his life protecting the three of us."**_

_**Present Donatello: "I can't believe this place… It's all so… Horrible."**_

_**Future Michelangelo: "You'll get used to it."**_

Michelangelo sat just outside the lair, knees brought up against his chest, his remaining arm wrapped around his legs firmly, turning him into a tight ball of green sinew. The left arm, not reduced to a stub, hung limply at his side. It felt odd not to be able to wrap his other arm about himself. In fact, Mike kept getting the weird feeling that the appendage was still there. He remembered Donnie talking about something like that before… called it a 'ghost limb'.

Mike's left leg was also bandaged. When the claws from the Shredder's exosuit had sliced through his arm like butter, it had scratched his leg as well.

He stared blankly into the rushing sewage water, eyes fogged over in a forlorn, dead look. Pain throbbed dully from his various wounds but Michelangelo did not seem to notice. He seemed to be oblivious of everything surrounding him but, in truth, his concentration was focused on the angry voices emitting from the lair.

Raphael and Leonardo were fighting. The physical part of their disagreement over and done with, they had succumbed to verbal abuse.

"Don't give me that _shit_, fearless leader! We could have saved him; you know that!"

"Raph, it was no use! We would not have been able to save him, even if we tried! Besides, if we had jumped in to save him, we would have perished as well! Raph, look at Mikey. We barely made it out of there as it was!"

"Better off perishin' than livin' through this shit! I would have rather died than selfishly exchange our father's life for my own!" The hotheaded turtle's voice was shaking. Mike new that he was either crying, or on the verge of it.

"We had to stay alive for a reason. We have to give it everything we've got; we have to kill the Shredder once and for all! If we do, then the planet will be safe again."

"And then what? Go back to the way that things were? I'm tellin' ya right now, Leo, I'm sick of saving those danm humans' ungrateful asses! We save them, and then they go back to screamin' at the sight of us, go back to hating us just for our mere appearance! Ta them, were just freaks!"

"So we just sit back and watch the entire human race perish!"

"Yes, Leo, exactly! Maybe by th' time their numbers are low enough ta deem their survival hopeless, humans would have learned a lesson!" There was a pause, during which Mike could hear his brothers' labored breathing; as though they had both just run marathons.

"Raph, once Shredder takes over this planet, then what do you think he will do? He'll go after other planets, that's what! He will kill other innocent alien species, species that haven't even judged us like the humans have!"

"Well, that's not our problem."

"Not our _problem_?"

"You seriously have your priorities confused, _bro_. Our _problem_ is that we have a leader who seems ta think that its okay ta leave family members behind when they need us most!"

Something in the sewer water caught Mike's eye. It was a lump, covered in brown cloth. The youngest turtle watched it until it washed up on the cement flooring of the sewers, not more than three feet away from where he was sitting.

Still halfway listening to the brawl between his brothers, the youngest turtle stood up painfully, relying on his good arm and leg to steady him. Then he limped over to the lumpy figure.

"Raph, don't start that with me again! We've been over it what must have been a million times! No matter how many different ways that you word it, my answer is still going to be the same."

Mike bent down next to the lump, ignoring the pain from his leg. He reached down with his good arm and slowly flipped the thing over. The soaked cloth slid away, revealing what it was. Mike gasped. It was Splinter's carcass.

"I'm just gonna keep repeating this for ya until you see the light!"

Mike picked up the battered body of his sensei, cradling the stiff and cold corpse in his good arm as best he could. He reached up with his hand and brushed some of the slime away from his sensei's cheek with this thumb, and looked into the face, which was forever screwed up with the pain that the rat had to endure during the last moments of his life.

"I'm only gonna say this once more: it's what he wanted, Raph. He died to save us!" Leo's words seemed to echo down the sewer tunnel. Mike cradled his father up to his chest and laid his own head on Splinter's soaked, furry chest. "If you don't want to believe me, if you don't want to listen to my senseless jabber, then you can leave!"

"…You know what, Leo? That's gotta be the first thing that you've said in a long while that actually makes sense! I think I will leave. Leave you to rot in your own grief, in your own self- blame, cuz I already know that that's what your feelin' right now." A door slammed, and Raph's voice faded away. There was a fewmoments of quiet before Leo raised his voice again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

"Mike? Mike!"

Michelangelo didn't answer. In fact, he completely ignored his brother. He rocked back and forth, holding his father's body in his good arm and staring through tear- blurred vision at Splinter's face.

And, suddenly, Mike felt something inside him change. It was a feeling that he had never felt before… like something inside of him had hardened, become cold. He clenched his fist as he felt Leo come up from behind him and put a hand lightly on his shoulder. Donnie was gone, Casey was gone, Master Splinter… and now, in his own way, Raph had left, too.

A sense of complete and utter hopelessness washed over the turtle. They had been battling the Shredder, but all in vain. Now, holding the body of one that Mike had always though to be invincible, he realized that they were all going to die. Shredder would kill them all.

But the younger turtle vowed that he would at least make an impact on the Shredder's forces before he went. For Donnie, for Casey, and for Master Splinter.

(27 years later, _Same As it Never Was_ takes place…)

_Hmm… so, tell me, was that any good at all? Do I need to improve it in any way? I'm open to all suggestions. Oh, and I don't know if I should leave this the way it is (kind of like 'Stabbed'). See, I named this fic so that I could make Donnie come back, but… I just figured that I'd leave the fic here and see if my readers wanted another chapter._


	2. Return?

_Shadowflame has updated!_

_Okay... I changed my plans a bit. Though I originally planned for this fic to have only two chapters, I changed my mind. Now, if things go according to plan, it will stretch to three, possibly four chappies before I end it. It all depends on how much I put into a chapter._

_Um... this chapter is relatively slow and devoid of action, just to let you all know. Hopefully, it'll suffice for now... this is just a lil introduction type-thing for this part of the story._

_I'd like to give thanks to **pacphys**, **Thalpomene**, **Rat Queen Valarian**, **The Sacred Heart 2**, **shannon**, **Dierdre**, **XXXElektraXXX**, **Mewfem**, **Cynlee**, **saber-otter**, and **Jessiy Landroz **for the reviews!_

_**Many thanks to pacphys for the beta read! **(Especially for helping me to correct my pathetic spelling errors...hah.) Go, read her fics!

* * *

_

_Had there been time to, he would have been amazed at how easily they sliced his skin with their cold blades, parting through his flesh like a knife though soft butter. With every slash they cut deeper, but, for some reason, it was only the first seven or eight wounds that hurt like hell. The ones that followed seemed to render parts of his body numb, useless. Though the feeling wasn't as alien to his as it perhaps should be, he took the numbness as a warning that his body was giving way and weakly raised his arm with his weapon at hand to protect his throat and neck._

_Though the effort was useless, it was the only thing that he could have done at that moment to retaliate. They were too fast for him to even think about fighting back, no matter how many years of experience he had under his shell._

_His fatigue was growing by the second, and he was becoming increasingly dizzy. He could feel the blood oozing from his wounds, warm, bitter and thick, flowing with liquid grace over his rippled muscles on their trip down to the earth. His hand went limp, useless, and his weapon dropped to the ground. The rest of his body followed suit, landing with a sort of muffled thud as a bright green light flashed underneath his eyelids._

_Someone screamed his name. He received the sound with fuzzy comprehension, barely recognizing the owner of the voice. He just knew that, whoever it was, they were familiar to him. And, at that moment, that was all that mattered to him. Because it helped to increase the feeling of warm peace that was growing within his chest._

_Laying there completely immobile, it didn't take long for a part of him to recognize that he was dying. But he didn't care; he hadn't cared for years. Ever since he had lost his family, his caring nature had dissolved; become alien to him._

_It was replaced with other emotions such as rage, spite and hatred. Feelings that ran so deep that he often found himself feeling nothing else. Emotions that had dictated his life for the past thirty years; that had often times allowed him to command his men with the skillfulness that he had._

_Emotions that, until now, had caused him to run away from fate for many years instead of staying rooted in one spot to accept it._

_Donatello was dead. Casey was dead. Splinter was dead. And now, he'd be joining them. Because despite the many warnings, he and his brothers had never learned... to face Shredder himself in battle was like signing a death warrant for a member of the family. And though the concept of revenge was as addicting as the idea of freedom sweet, it could -would- never happen. Shredder was too strong; he was at the point where he was invincible. And, with him being an Utrom, generations of humans would suffer under his long reign._

_He had failed to fufill his destiny. Failed to protect his family, his people, his honor... Failed to avenge the millions who had died under Saki's evil reign._

_So was his final thought, as the world around him went black.

* * *

_

Older bodies sank.

The newer ones floated, dancing clumsily with the irregular current. Pale, bloated faces beheld wide, glassy eyes; eyes devoid of the spark of life they once held. Hair whipped eerily around the corpses' heads in gruesome halos as blood leaked lazily from open wounds, swirling in an almost beckoning manner before finally merging completely with the water, adding more to the liquid's red-brown hue. Mouths were open in silent screams. Fish pecked spasmodically at the feast of dead flesh. Above the surface, seagulls perch on the bodies that floated and seemed to make a sport of putting out eyeballs drinking the horrid juices.

Tiny, white paper boats floated on the surface, bobbing up and down in the waveless water, the horrible liquid seeming to be as dead to the world as the bodies it contained. Each boat beheld a name on its side or on its' as sail, scribbled crudely in leftover charcoal from fires. They each lasted no more than a day or two before they were swallowed up by the gruesome water, and from there they oftentimes ended up being washed up on the shore.

On the shore, those who still clung to life moved about with haste. They seemed almost afraid of the water, reluctant to see or smell or even hear its faint lapping sound on the beach. They maneuvered over or around large chunks of cement, stumbling sometimes in their rush to be away from the repulsive sight. It was almost as though the water itself radiated a dark energy, and the people were driven by some animal instinct to get as far away from it as they could in the shortest amount of time possible.

However, there was one human out of all who seemed unafraid, one who actually dared to venture to the water and wet her old, battle-worn boots in the foul liquid. She walked painfully slow, taking tedious, measured strides as she stared blankly off into space, blinking only occasionally at some painful unspoken thought or memory. One hand was slipped into her pocket, and the other hung limply by her side, arm swinging slightly to match her gait.

Though despite the forlorn look in her eyes, despite her many scars etched across her face or the hundred-too-many gray hairs that seemed to invade her head, she still maintained the posture of a dignified and very much in-charge woman. Her body radiated a confidence that her face neglected to express, proudly displaying the badge pinned to her thick shirt at her bosom, which gleamed dully in the faint light of dusk.

Not one of 'her' people were close enough to the water to read her badge, of course. But they all knew who she was, only having to glimpse her slightly shadowed silhouette from afar to place a name with the limping gait she walked with. For she was infamous; her name was whispered among men, women and children alike in all parts of the world...

Rebel Leader Jones-O'Neil.

She continued to walk for some time, feet dragging though the rusty-looking water, moving at a constant, almost mechanical pace with her eyes staring forward, unfocused. Occasionally, she would lick her lips lightly and finger her wedding ring in her pocket as the face of one of her deceased family members appeared in her mind's eye. On and off she would slip the simple gold band around her finger, unaware that she was actually doing it as her mind was lingering elsewhere.

Finally, April stopped. She looked down at her boots, covered with watered-down blood, as though seeing them for the first time. Then, slowly, she turned to face what was once the grand city of New York. She still wanted- no, needed- time to think. But time, as always, was of the essence. Though she was anything but looking forward to it, she knew that planning the Ceremony was her responsibility. After all, when considered, she was the only one in the position to be able to do it. Her other family members were either dead (and were therefore a part of the Ceremony) or were critically wounded.

Though her reluctance to go about preparing the Ceremony wasn't solely because she dreaded the thought of finally saying goodbye to two more family members from 'back then'. She wanted to see if the remaining one made it.

And, if he did, she wanted him to be there. After all... they weren't _technically _her brothers - they were his. The only people that he had had in the world for years before the Shredder began to take over, and they were gone. It only seemed right to wait for his recovery- she knew that, despite how many times he had said he loathed them, he would want to be there to wish them farewell. Even if he would refuse to admit it out loud. Because April knew his affection for them was in there somewhere- beneath many more layers of self-hatred and spite then there used to be, yes, but still there.

She knew, because over the years she had caught glimpses of it. Weak sparks of sudden emotion that sprang up in his eyes and burned for less than a second before they were suffocated again by the hopelessness that plagued his heart.

Despite how many times they had all fought for the years after they split after Splinter's death, despite his denial and sudden withdrawal of how he used to be, it was obvious to her that he still cared for them. That was why he had worked for her during the war, she knew. Not only had he been trying to bring honor back to his dead brother's and father's names, he had once said, but he was doing it for his two remaining brothers as well.

It wasn't in an attempt to bring them all back together. That much she knew; he seemed to have lost all hope in trying that. Hell, if anything, he had lost hope before the other two did.

Quite against her will, she remembered finding the poor turtle alone one night, curled up into a tight ball on the cold cement with the rain beating against his shell. Bodies of Foot soldiers surrounded him, their blood mixing, forming small torrents as the rain washed it down the cracked pavement to collect in large, murky puddles.

She had approached him; shaken his shoulder and tried to get him to stand. For the longest time he simply ignored her, seeming to pick up the role of a large boulder: cold, lifeless, and virtually impossible for April to move with her bare hands. It was finally after a two-hour period of persuasion that she was able to get him to stand; to squeeze the first and final words from him that night.

_"They aren't with anyone, April. Not anymore. Not again."_

It was the next day when he had found his voice again that he had sworn alliance to her, promised to help the rebels fight to regain their freedom. And fight he did, even when it almost cost him his life several times.

Finally taking a step away from the hellish water, April Jones-O'Neil finally began the trek back to the city- and back to the medical center. She had someone to visit.

* * *

As time ticked by, Angel became more and more concerned. 

April had been gone for a while now. And though it wasn't unlike the woman to be absent for long periods of time, her disappearances were becoming more and more habitual. At first, recognizing the obvious fact that April needed the time alone, Angel didn't mind it when she would suddenly take off. Lately, however, the older woman had started taking her breaks more often, and was gone for much longer periods of time.

The case wasn't that Angel doubted the Rebel Leader's ability to defend herself. April had proven time and time again that she was more than capable of accomplishing that feat. It was how her friend was handling the recent loss of two of her family members from 'back then' and the predicted death of a third that worried her so.

So, after hours of waiting for April's return then another hour of contemplating on what to do, Angel had set off to find her. Because of the recent deaths of the two turtles, the commander eventually decided to start looking for the older woman in the sewers, figuring that April would go there not only in hopes of nobody bothering her, but because it also seemed like the right place to mourn for the losses.

Now, as she trudged through the sewers, her apprehension would increase a notch every time she passed a familiar landmark. Ever since the turtles had fully moved out of the old lair years ago, walking these tunnels made her uneasy. The knowledge that she was actually going to have to enter the abandoned place in order to search for her friend only seemed to increase her adrenaline flow tenfold.

Angel wasn't one to believe in ghosts. She had seen many a man die, and though the bloody images plagued her dreams, she had yet to experience a 'true' haunting. But every time she came down here, every time she walked the still familiar path to the old lair, it seemed that the air was thick with not only the stench of sewage or the occasional dead body, but memories as well. Some of them being good, many more of them bad.

It seemed to her that the parting memories of this place clung to the stale air better than the others. Angel hadn't been there to witness the years after Splinter's death back when the turtles had been occupying the place, but the recollections of Leonardo and Michelangelo had provided her with a decent idea as to what went on.

As she neared the spot where she knew the door to the abandoned lair to be, she couldn't resist the urge to glance at the spot where she knew Michelangelo had sat years ago, when he had discovered Splinter's body. The memory of him describing the discovery was so vivid that his voice seemed to echo through her mind, as cold and emotionless as ever.

_Alone, desperate, frightened, angry... hopeless... dead... Leo._

She had no idea why the turtle's description had stuck to her mind the way it had. Perhaps it was just the numb horror that she had felt that stapled the words to her memory, for the blank, emotionless tone that Mike had used when describing such dreadful emotions had frightened her. It was almost as though the essence of the old Mikey had been sucked from his being, leaving behind an empty shell.

Little did she know that in the years to come, that tone would become all too regular for Michelangelo. That was, other than the spontaneous spurts of anger that the ninja would oftentimes have.

In little time Angel made it to the twisted knot of dusty pipes that was the main entrance to the abandoned lair. Racking her memory, she hesitantly reached forward, grasping a protruding pipe in her gloved fingers.

For several long seconds she simply stood there, basking uncertainty and hesitation. Then, in a sudden burst of determination she pulled the pipe down, then pushed it in, and was rewarded with a soft clicking sound as the pipes began to rearrange themselves.

Years had been hard on the old machine that used to open the lair with silent ease. With a great deal of creaking and grinding, the passage was finally opened. After the echoes had died, the silence that surrounded Angel seemed to become thicker, and by instinct she tensed, listening to the silence.

Nothing. The lair was as silent and dark as ever, the only source light in the place being the dim blue shine emitting from the crystals lodged in the walls. They gave the large, spacy lair an eerie glow, casting ghostly shadows all around.

Cautiously reaching up to her head, Angel pulled her night vision goggles down. Immediately the interior of the dark lair was highlighted with a ghastly green, allowing her to further view her surroundings.

Not nearly as blind as before, she stepped deeper into the lair. With every step she took, a foreboding feeling blossoming within her chest increased at an alarming rate. She could almost feel a pair of eyes burning into her back...

God, she _hated _that feeling. No matter how many battles she had been through, she _still _had trouble shaking it off. She figured that most of it was paranoia. The only person that Angel could think of that would be here was April. The lair was still well hidden- all the ones who knew its exact location were either dead... or bedridden.

She made it to the center of the lair, eyes not missing the faint footprints in the dust. There were turtle ones that looked to be fairly recent, but that didn't bother her. She knew by the story that April had told her that a young, 'past' version of Donatello had somehow winded up here by mistake, and that he had brought the three adult turtles here to gather supplies for the defeat of Shredder- or, as the public had taken to calling it, the 'Final Battle'.

She had just made it to the center of the lair when something peculiar caught her eye. The sub car lab, which had until then been hidden from sight by one of the large pillars, had it's door cracked open. Angel hadn't seen the door open since her version Donatello had disappeared. His remaining brothers had kept the door closed and the interior of the lab untouched- whether out of grief or as a sign of respect she didn't know.

Perhaps the past Donatello had gone into the lab while searching for something?

Lifting her goggles, she almost started to see that there was a dim light on in the room, as though the source of the glow was located ay in the back...

Slowly, quietly, the woman began to make her way towards the lab, reaching down to her belt as she moved. Clasping the grip of her small handgun, she pulled the deadly weapon out of it's holster, gripping it tightly in her hand.

She was almost sure it was April on the other side of that door. Still, it felt right to have her weapon at hand. It helped to quell some of the uneasiness she was feeling.

At the door, she carefully placed the palm of her free hand against the wood, listening. There was a noise coming from the inside of the room, a faint, purring sound that sounded familiar, but she couldn't place the right word with what it was...

With a sudden burst of energy, she shoved the door open, bringing her previously free hand to help to steady her firearm as she pointed it into the room, expecting someone to be occupying the small space.

No one. The room was empty of all people, lit only by the monitor of a computer that was sitting in the far back of the sub car, which explained the purring sound. Angel cursed her stupidity, remembering now that her entrance had not necessarily been a quiet one. She had given whoever had been in here plenty of time to get out of the room...

The moment before she was about to turn she was attacked from the side. A flash of black, and something hit her wrist, causing the hand gun to drop uselessly to the ground. Angel tried to step away, but the assailant was quick to grab her clothing, forcefully pulling her backward.

A hand clasped over her mouth, and she bit into the rough, calloused skin, tasting blood on her tongue. The hand withdrew, and she twisted in the attacker's grip, successfully turning around to face him. She drew a small knife from her belt and held it before her, assuming a ready stance.

The assailant was bulky, his figure outlined in the dark by the faint blue light emitting mostly from the lab. He held his injured hand out before him, and a faint glimmering could be seen as blood trickled from the teeth marks on his palm and down his-

_Three fingers..._

For a moment, Angel froze, staring in shock at the hand. Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet that of her attackers.

"...Commander?" He found herself asking, brain on overload.

Bursting into sudden action, he rushed her and she, unable to recover quick enough, found herself again locked in his strong grip. Her fingers still firmly grasping the leather handle of her blade, she adjusted the knife in her hand, stabbing weakly down at his thigh, and was rewarded with a pained grunt. Again she twisted in the figure's grip, trying to get away, but the assailant was ready this time, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of her arm. With a growl, she raised one of her feet, preparing to kick at his shin...

And he released her, shoving the woman away. Angel fell to the earth, hard, releasing her hold on the knife as she made contact with the cold, dusty floor. Recovering as quickly as possible, she lifted her head and, spotting her handgun on the ground no more than a few meters away, she pulled herself towards it.

Her fingers had just grasped the grip of her firearm when suddenly, a sharp pain exploded from the back of her skull, and with a bright white flash the world around her dimmed to blackness.

* * *

_Yup. One of the three adult turtles seen in SAINW is alive. I'm curious if anybody figured it out (might not have been too hard to, I donno...) But if not, I'll probably end up revealing who it is next chappie. Which, hopefully, will be more entartaining.  
_

_The ending gave me a LOT of trouble... and that's probably obvious. But yeah... I eventually realized that I had to stop fretting over it and just post the darn thing to that I could move on...  
_


End file.
